Lacrymosa
by Trishala Vardhan
Summary: *sequel to The Young And The Hopeless* Odette and Dean are in hell. Castiel is nowhere to be found, and Sam is headed down a dangerous road. And a force is emerging, more evil than anything they've ever faced before.
1. Deep In The Hole

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**Hey, again, guys!**

**Hello to all my wonderful readers!**

**That was an evil cliffie, I know, but here it is!**

**The first chapter of Lacrymosa, "gift-wrapped and ready to go." :P**

**And I'll be changing the tense a little bit, just tweaking it around.**

**Chapter title borrowed from AC/DC.**

**Lyrics borrowed from Martina McBride's 'Concrete Angel'.**

**IMPORTANT- There is going to be some violence in the next few chapters, so nobody under thirteen, I guess.**

**Reviews, please!**

**On that happy note, on with it, shall we? **

_A statue stands in a shaded place,_

_An angel girl with an upturned face,_

_A name is written on a polished rock,_

_A broken heart that the world forgot._

CHAPTER ONE- DEEP IN THE HOLE

They never stop screaming.

I can never see them, there is nothing but grayness and fog around me, but they always scream.

Always.

And there is pain.

Mind-numbing, agonizing, pain.

It never leaves, and he never stops.

Alistair does his job well.

I let out a scream of my own as Alistair thrusts the knife in deeper, intensifying the hot, aching waves of pain flowing over me.

It is excruciating.

I writhe, futilely trying to get myself off the rack, get myself away from him, from his knife.

The nails lodged in my back only dig in deeper- bringing more pain.

Pain.

Pain is relative- every time you get hurt, your definition of it changes, for better or for worse.

What is my definition?

I do not know.

Pain is a hundred different things- watching the life fade from Jared's eyes, seeing Sammy's body cold and lifeless on the hospital bed, watching Dean die choking on his own blood.

Pain is the memory of Cas throwing me aside without a second thought.

My heart throbs in response to my thoughts.

But hearts do not matter here.

Only pain, and death, and blood, and misery, because this is hell.

And right now, pain is Alistair slicing every inch of my skin with a hot metal knife.

Physically, it is more torturous than anything I have ever faced before.

But my mind itself is the worst torture of all.

For now.

_"I don't want to stay here, Odette. I don't want to be here with you. I don't care."_

A new, colder sort of ache fills me, and coupled with my wounds, it is unbearable.

But I do not cry.

Hell is no place for tears.

Eventually, I give up trying to escape.

It is a vicious cycle- I realize fighting is of no use, but I do it anyway.

Because if I don't, I will go mad, revisiting all my nightmarish realities.

I have lost count of how many there are.

I wonder if Sam is looking for me, if he is alright.

I hope he does not find my body.

Alistair stops for a while, surveying his handiwork.

I belatedly notice that I have not stopped screaming.

He does not taunt me today, and for that, I am glad.

I already know how utterly, helplessly, pitiable I am.

How weak.

I stare dumbly at myself- I am covered with deep, bleeding cuts, or long, rough scars from past days under Alistair's skilled hands.

There is not an inch of unmarked skin.

I am no longer beautiful.

I am no longer anything.

Alistair starts again, and I close my eyes.

I do not want to see the deplorable state I am in.

But I can feel.

Cas' face fills my mind, and more than ever, I want to cry.

But I can't.

I do not think I am alive enough to be capable of producing tears.

Anger erupts in me now- hot and strong and instinctive.

All my rage is directed at Cas, but I still can't blame him.

Who would want to stay with me?

And I am angrier than ever at him because of it.

And yet, for all of that, I still can't hate him.

And I hate myself all the more for it.

I do not know why I care so much.

It is obvious he never did.

I am almost grateful for the distraction as Alistair switches to a scalpel.

I concentrate on the physical pain alone, and it is enough, more than enough, to keep me occupied.

I do not know how much time has passed in hell.

It could have been an hour, or it could have been a year.

The only thing I am sure of is that I am in pain, and that I always will be in pain.

I still cannot see them, but the other souls keep screaming.

My voice has joined them.

**So what do you think? Reviews are love!**


	2. Hell Is Living Without You

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**And the second chapter is up!**

**Chapter title and lyrics borrowed from Alice Cooper.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! **

**On with it, shall we? **

_Try to walk away when I see the time I've wasted_

_Starving at a feast and all this wine I've never tasted_

_On my lips your memory has been stained,_

_Is it all in vain, tell me who's to blame_

CHAPTER TWO- HELL IS LIVING WITHOUT YOU

Hell is freezing.

It always has been.

I've always thought it would be hot- that it would burn.

But I was wrong.

The frost of hell seeps through what is left of my body- strangely inflaming my wounds.

I still don't know how much time has passed.

It feels like an eternity.

I don't know anything, except that I am in pain.

Blinding, agonizing pain.

The muscles in my body lock down for impact as Alistair re-enters my room.

He is smiling, and he catches a tendril of my blood-soaked hair in his clawed fingers.

"Are you ready for round two, sweetheart? I have a surprise for you."

Alistair winks.

"I think you'll like it."

I am hideously, painfully afraid.

I have never feared, or hated any other person this much.

I blink in surprise as Alistair moves back, and I can hear the distinct sound of wheels moving.

A portable rack.

Foreboding fills me as Alistair pushes the red gurney inside my torture chamber.

I realize with a roll of nausea that it is red from the person's blood.

I cannot discern anything about him- all I know is that he is male.

I can see nothing but cuts and weals over his body.

But he looks oddly, achingly familiar.

There is something about the shape of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips...

And then I understand how much I've failed.

The person on the other gurney is Jared.

Alistair rips into my skin.

I scream.

~Supernatural~

Alistair knows me well.

It is worse, so much worse, to see him torturing Jared than being tortured myself.

I know this is all my fault.

Every time Jared screams, I loathe myself even more.

"No, don't. Please don't. Let him go," I plead brokenly.

It only makes it worse.

Cas was right to leave me- I am a monster.

I cause nothing but pain and death and misery- to both myself and everyone else.

I can feel it growing in me- the rage, the hate, the utter, encompassing fury that is possessing me.

I have never been capable of feeling this way.

Ever.

Hell has twisted my identity, warped it into something unrecognizable, inside and out.

Alistair turns on me, and I welcome the pain, agonizing as it is.

I deserve it.

Jared's eyes stare into mine mutely, and there is nothing I can do but scream as Alistair continues.

I know he understands.

He always has.

But it is not enough.

Not this time.

Finally, finally, Alistair stops working us both over, and leaves with a satisfied smirk.

"I have a checklist, you know," He grins.

The pain does not lessen for either of us when he goes away, but at least I do not have to hear Jared scream anymore.

For now.

We cannot see each other's faces in the fog.

"I'm sorry," I whisper softly.

My words burn with regret.

"It's not your fault," Jared replies loyally, and I laugh hysterically.

Not my fault.

When everything is.

I keep laughing, unmindful of the blood in my throat.

I am losing my mind.

My laughter changes into sobbing.

I cannot hold them back any longer.

The tears fall, mixing with my blood.

"You don't understand," Jared's voice is harder.

"I came to hell because of the people I've killed. I deserve this."

"Don't you dare," I snap.

"None of this is your fault. None of this would have happened if not for me."

Jared objects.

"I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree," He concurs.

I hang my head in silence.

Jared's voice is an odd mix of tentativeness and self-loathing.

"Would you understand if I said I'm both glad and horrified that you're here?"

I smile bitterly.

I do understand.

I hate the fact that he has to suffer with me, but I am shamefully grateful that I am not alone.

"I do, Jared."

I breathe out shakily, steeling myself to stay in control.

It takes all my resolve not to scream.

"How did you..." Jared spits out blood. "How did you get here?"

"By force," I say sarcastically. "Alistair has plans for me."

We both know what that means.

Jared hitches in a breath.

"How could he let that happen? Cast-"

_"Don't," _ The word is pulled from my mouth. "Please don't."

"That son of a bitch," Jared snarls. "He promised me."

I want to defend Cas, but I can't.

I just can't.

And that hurts more than anything else.

"Jared," The words are almost inaudible.

"I'm scared. I could turn into a demon. I can feel it."

I can feel hell chipping away at me, at my identity.

It is only a matter of time.

"No you won't," Jared promises me. "I won't let you."

"How?"

I search for his face in the grayness of the room.

"How did you not change?"

His answer makes the tears prick back into my eyes.

"I thought of an anchor. My anchor to humanity, when I was a vampire. The link that kept me human."

Jared takes a deep breath.

"I thought of you."

The air whooshes out of my lungs, and I hate myself more than ever.

"I love you," I murmur softly.

And I do, but something has changed.

Jared chuckles weakly.

"I know, _querida_. I do too. But focus. Remember your anchor."

What is my anchor?

What is it that keeps me human, that keeps me...me?

There's really no doubt about it.

I remember rich, clear blue and upraised, dark-edged wings.

I remember a tan coat, frayed and torn and bloodied.

I have my anchor.

"Do you have it now?" Jared asks.

"Yes."

My voice is firm.

"Good. Burn it into your memory."

I don't need to.

It already is.

My answer is lost as Alistair reappears.

Fear constricts my throat.

He starts again, and the pain impossibly intensifies.

I reach out blindly, searching for Jared's hand.

My hand brushes against his fingers, and he holds onto it tightly.

Our screams weave together in a strange, twisted melody, as Alistair continues his work.

Our hands are slick with the other's blood.

The pain is excruciating.

And through it all, Jared's hand stays clamped in mine.


	3. Eaten From Inside

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**I'm really being evil to poor Odette, aren't I?**

**But hell is hell.**

**Nothing I can do. :P**

**And there's a reference to Inheritance by Christopher Paolini.**

**See if you can catch it.**

**Chapter title borrowed from Cannibal Corpse.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! **

**On with it, shall we? **

CHAPTER THREE- EATEN FROM INSIDE

Jared is gone- wheeled away into the night.

If there is any night in hell.

Someone else has taken his place- a woman, that is all I can gather, in the dim light of my room.

Alistair has not started on her yet- but someone else has.

Her body is streaked with blood, yet she does not scream.

I can only admire her restraint- I do not have it.

Alistair walks into my room, but this time he carries nothing but a knife and a box.

A box which is moving.

Dread fills me as Alistair makes a wide slit in my arm.

He tips something out into his hand.

An insect.

No, that's not the word.

I don't know what it is, but it emits a shrill _scree-skroo _noise as it flits across Alistair's hands.

And suddenly I understand what his plan is.

I struggle on my rack, not caring that the nails rip into my skin even further.

I am terrified.

Alistair holds me fast, smiling widely.

"So you do know what this is."

I struggle even harder-but it is futile.

The thing, whatever it is, crawls inside my arm.

The pain is instantaneous.

I scream, ripping my vocal chords apart, as it slips inside my skin.

Alistair watches silently, with crossed arms.

He savors every minute of my torture.

My hate for him grows impossibly greater.

So does my fear.

I scream in agony.

I can feel it, whatever _it_ is, burrowing inside my skin, eating it's way through my body.

It is excruciating.

I writhe, my body arching off the rack, foolishly making my pain worse.

It digs in deeper, leaving my flesh swollen and inflamed.

This continues for what feels like an eternity.

Eventually Alistair gets bored, and pulls it out.

He leaves without a second glance.

I keep screaming.

The woman in the corner starts talking.

"How... how do you know Castiel?" She rasps.

I realize I have been screaming his name for the past hours.

Or years.

It certainly feels like it.

I don't answer her- the pain is enough already.

"I just do," I say.

"You scream his name when you are afraid," She notes.

I close my eyes.

The ache is so much worse.

"Who are you?" I whisper.

How does she know Cas?

I can see her a lot more clearly now.

Bloodied and battered as she is, the woman commands respect.

She is not beautiful- far from it, not with her agate grey eyes and cornsilk hair.

But she is striking- she manages to look strong, even here, in hell.

And that's when I notice the wings nailed down on either side of her.

Of course she was an angel, who else would know Cas?

"Who are you?" I repeat.

The angel's eyes bore into mine, and I am forcefully, painfully reminded of Cas.

"My name is Amitiel. I am the angel of truth."

"Nice to meet you," The sarcasm in my voice is poorly concealed.

"I'm Odette Slessor."

"Welcome to hell," I add bitterly.

Amitiel laughs wryly.

"What did you do to get here?" I ask.

Amitiel's eyes darken.

"I rebelled. I disobeyed a direct order from my superior. I thought it was too brutal. So I was cast down here."

I strain to see her face in the fog.

"And your superior was..."

She knows what I want to say.

"It wasn't Castiel, he would never send anyone down here. Someone else."

"Uriel," She spits out.

She turns to look at me.

"What about you?"

I do not look her in the eyes.

"Nothing. Alistair pulled me in here."

"But that's-"

"Against the rules, I know," I interrupt. "They don't seem to matter here."

Amitiel stares at me, and suddenly, her eyes widen.

"It's you. It has to be. Why else would anyone..."

My eyes narrow in confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

She looks at me, astonished.

"You don't know. You don't know you're the descendant of Metatron?"

I am lost.

"Who's Metatron?"

She ignores me.

"You have to get out. You just have to, or..."

"Or what?"

"Or Lilith unleashes the devil."


	4. Force Fed Broken Glass

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**Just wait a few more chapters, okay?**

**She's not gonna be in hell forever.**

**Chapter title borrowed from Cannibal Corpse.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! **

**On with it, shall we? **

CHAPTER FOUR- FORCE FED BROKEN GLASS

Amitiel has told me everything.

Lilith wants to free Lucifer from his cage, and bring about the apocalypse.

She seems to think I have a role to play in this.

I do not agree.

It does not stop her from teaching me how to harness my powers- she believes it is a gift.

It scares me, sometimes, knowing how much I am capable of.

That, for the first time, I want to use my powers.

But it does not matter.

I am weak.

I am helpless- what use have I ever been to anyone?

What use was I to Sam?

What help was I to Dean?

_Dean._

The name helps me distance myself from the pain- if marginally.

I curse myself for my stupidity, for my selfishness.

He is here in hell too, but I have almost forgotten him, immersed in my own self-pity and hatred.

"Amitiel," I rasp. "Do you know how to contact someone in hell?"

Her eyes flash, turning almost black.

"It's easy. Link with the souls here. Speak his name in your mind. Call for him."

She knows already- there is no sense in hiding anything from Amitiel.

Not when she is the embodiment of truth.

So I do as she says.

_Dean,_ I think, searching for him with my mind. _Dean, where are you?_

"Be careful!" Amitiel cautions, but it is too late.

I have opened my mind to the forces of hell.

The screaming intensifies, and their pain, coupled with my own, nearly sends me over the edge.

It is much more than I can take.

But what is worse is that I can understand them.

_Hurts,_ one whimpers soundlessly in my head.

_I'm sorry,_ says another.

I recognize Bela's voice among them.

I strain to look for Dean, and I hear a man screaming, set apart from all the rest, and I reach out with all my strength.

But I lose him.

If the man even was Dean in the first place.

Amitiel is surprised, but approving.

"You just need work, you're definitely strong enough."

"You'll get out of here," Jared promises.

"We'll make sure of it. I'll make sure of it."

They will not let me give up, neither of them.

Even if they have lost hope for themselves.

I want to believe them, but no one escapes hell.

No one.

But they are the only ones holding together the tattered shreds of my sanity.

We seem to have formed a fellowship- we hope for each other, even if we have none for ourselves.

I realize the irony in my thoughts as Alistair walks in again.

He's here for me- Jared and Amitiel have already had their turn.

I do not know what is worse- watching them get hurt, or knowing that they watch me when I am being tortured.

Today Alistair carries shards of broken glass.

I do not understand what he means to do as he adds extra shackles to my arms and legs.

I cannot move.

And then he forces open my mouth.

I understand only too well now.

I scream, but there is no way out.

I am strapped to the rack, arms and legs immobile.

Alistair rams the glass down my throat.

The pain is impossibly blinding.

I have no chance to shriek, because Alistair shoves more of it down, whistling cheerily as he strips away the skin inside my throat.

I can feel it ripping away at the skin, slicing and scraping along my throat.

It hurts more than the insect, the knife, or even the burning.

But the worst thing is that I cannot even scream.

My vocal chords are torn and bloodied.

It is excruciating, and I am locked in a prison of my own silent agony as Alistair continues.

Jared's hand clamps onto mine, but even he cannot help me this time.

I meet Amitiel's eyes, and her expression is grim.

The message is clear.

There is no getting out.

"You know this could all end," Alistair says lightly.

"Just say the word, and you'll be up and off this rack in no time. All you have to do is my job."

Which means torture another soul.

It is tempting, so, horribly, terrifyingly tempting, to know that the pain could end, but I hold onto Jared's hand and ignore Alistair.

"Well?" He pushes.

Since I cannot speak, I answer him the only way I know how.

I spit blood in his face.

Alistair's face contorts with rage, and I know the pain will be worse than ever.

But he cocks his head to one side, as if listening to something.

"I'll deal with you later," He says.

His eyes hold the promise of more pain as he leaves.

I cry soundless, tearless sobs.

~Supernatural~

This time it is Amitiel who has gone.

I still cannot speak, and Jared squeezes my hand gently.

Even that small motion sets off a spasm of pain.

"Sorry," Jared whispers, and his words throb with regret.

Jared's gurney touches mine, and our hands lock together regardless of the ache.

"I am so sorry," Jared murmurs. "I was supposed to protect you."

"And look at you now," Jared laughs bitterly.

It sounds more like a sob.

"Seventeen and burning in hell."

I shake my head silently.

This is not his fault.

_You tried,_ I mouth with difficulty._ I know you did. But I can't be saved_.

I can feel tears pricking in my eyes again.

Jared's head moves closer to mine, and our lips briefly brush together.

We taste of heat and ashes.

We taste of misery.


	5. This Maniac's In Love With You

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**Yeah, she's finally gonna admit it! Aren't you happy?**

**Chapter title borrowed from Alice Cooper.**

**I'm sorry for the late update-and this will be the last one until my exams are over, which is probably by the twenty-ninth of September.**

**Lyrics borrowed from Robbie William's 'Angels.'**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! **

**On with it, shall we?**

_I sit and wait, does an angel contemplate my fate?_

_And do they know, the places where we go,_

_When we're gray and old?_

_'Cause I've been told,_

_That salvation lets their wings unfold,_

_So when I'm lying in my bed,_

_Thoughts running through my head,_

_And I feel that love is dead,_

_I'm loving angels instead._

CHAPTER FIVE- THIS MANIAC'S IN LOVE WITH YOU

I am losing my mind.

I can feel it.

I can feel hell chipping away at my sanity.

Alistair twists my hand around, picking up a brush in one hand.

He dips it in the red liquid, delicately painting my nails.

Painting my nails with my own blood.

They glisten a deep shade of claret, just like the rest of my body.

There is nothing Amitiel, or even Jared can do to stop it.

Amitiel tells me I am stronger than ever, that my powers are, even now, still growing, but it does not change a thing.

I am no longer Odette Slessor.

I am nothing at all.

Hell has stabbed and ripped and burnt and bled my identity away, leaving nothing behind but an animal that screams for release.

Release from pain.

Because that's all there is left-pain.

Pain and fear and misery.

Jared tells me time works differently in hell.

Twenty years have passed since the time I died.

Since the time Cas left.

And, even here, that pain is the worst of all.

So is the anger.

So is the hate.

It keeps growing, an angry red feeling roiling inside of me, struggling for release.

"Use it," Amitiel commands. "Use it to get stronger."

So I do.

But it's not enough.

It will never be enough.

Not here.

Hours pass.

Or is it years?

I can never tell here.

I begin to measure time by the dripping of my blood onto the floor.

I have too much empty time- Alistair is gone, probably torturing another soul.

So I repeat the same vicious cycle.

_Cas_.

Just thinking of him hurts more than anything Alistair can do.

I rage at myself, cursing my stupidity.

Why does he matter so much?

Why can't I hate him?

Why can't I blame him?

But I know the answer.

I can't blame him.

Look at me now- utterly, completely pitiable.

Helpless.

Who in his right mind would stay with me, sullied as I am with blood and death?

Stained as I am with guilt.

Jared reads my thoughts easily- we have linked minds almost unconsciously.

He cannot speak, either.

_Stop it_, Jared's voice is tight as it whispers in my head.

_It's not your fault, it's his_.

There was a time when Jared could make me believe anything.

It's gone now.

Jared knows, how could he not?

He knows me better than I do myself.

_Son of a bitch_, His voice is angry, pounding inside my head.

_He promised me_.

I smile bitterly.

"He promised me too, Jared. I guess we were both wrong."

I let out a choked laugh at the cruel humor in this situation.

I wonder if Cas knows I am in hell.

I wonder if he even wants to save me.

I guess not.

Amitiel doesn't need telling.

She knows anyway.

And the fury sweeps over me again.

Why does it hurt so much?

Why do I care that he left?

I try to shove him out of my mind, rip away any fondness I have for him, but it doesn't work.

Almost in defiance of my efforts, a dozen memories of Cas flash across my eyes.

I remember the piercing blue of his eyes, his bedraggled tan trenchcoat, his rumpled, messy hair...

I try and focus on the anger instead.

But it changes into a sense of betrayal, and that is no easier to stomach.

Why does it affect me so strongly?

Why does _he_ affect me?

Amitiel's words echo in my head.

_"You scream his name when you are afraid_."

Jared is listening to my thoughts, hand clenched around mine.

His grip tightens so much it hurts.

But then again, everything hurts in hell.

I force myself to think his name, gritting my teeth together.

I taste blood.

It's time I faced what was happening.

The realization does not bring me any joy.

Just more pain.

As if it wasn't enough already.

Cas' leaving me wouldn't hurt unless I...

Jared realizes it at the same time I do.

"Unless you love him," He somehow manages to murmur.

"You love him," Jared marvels.

Every cell in my body aches to deny it.


	6. Sentenced To Burn

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**Hola, people!**

**I know, I know, I feel horrible I haven't updated-my exams have barely started, but this is my birthday treat to you guys...**

**(Yes, that's right, it's my birthday today)**

**Oh, yes, it just got a **_**lot**_** worse.**

**Chapter title borrowed from Cannibal Corpse.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! **

**On with it, shall we?**

CHAPTER SIX- SENTENCED TO BURN

Alistair transfers me onto a gurney.

Instant alarm floods through me.

This does not bode well for any of us.

As if he has read my mind, Alistair walks over to Amitiel and stabs her in the heart with a strange silver sword.

Amitiel screams, and her wings disappear.

White, piercing light fills the room, and I screw my eyes tightly shut.

It passes through all its surroundings, and I shriek as her Grace enters my body, inflaming all my wounds.

"Remember what I taught you," Amitiel chokes out.

"I'll help you- even if I'm dead."

It's over in a few short seconds.

Amitiel is dead.

The grief hits me harder than I thought I was capable of.

Alistair turns to me.

"Sorry, darling, I won't have the pleasure of breaking you. But I don't envy you."

He chuckles.

"Who you're going to? Well, he makes me look like a cuddly little kitten."

And suddenly, I know where I'm going.

"Lucifer," Alistair echoes my thoughts.

"NO!"

Jared shouts, reaching for my hand, but I'm already too far away.

I scream his name, but it's of no use.

Our fingers brush together briefly, and then I'm wheeled away.

I don't think I'll ever see his face again.

~Supernatural~

For the first time, I'm seeing other souls.

I search for Dean desperately, but I see no sign of him.

Suddenly, everything turns black.

I can sense something- something alien, a vast, cold presence lurking in the deepest pits of hell.

Ice courses through my veins- it is the most evil thing I've ever felt before.

Lucifer.

Alistair pulls me off the gurney, and I can detect an indistinct shape whch looks almost like...almost like a cage.

And I understand Alistair's plan for me.

I scream, kicking against his hold, but it is futile.

I am still too weak.

"Sorry, honey," Alistair pushes me forward to the cage. "Bigger fish to fry."

Lucifer's very presence makes me sick to my stomach.

And then I'm thrown inside the cage.

There is no getting out.

"Hello, Odette," A cool voice says.

"My name is Lucifer. Welcome to hell."

I scream.

~Supernatural~

There are no words to describe it.

Alistair's torture is nothing in comparison to this.

Because I'm locked inside with the devil.

The devil who has been burning here for centuries, and is directing all his anger at me.

I try not to scream.

It does no good, and it only delights Lucifer more.

I do not know how much time has passed here.

Every second feels like an eternity.

The pain is excruciating.

"Torture is an art," Lucifer hisses in my ear.

"You have to cultivate it. You have to nurture it. You see, that's my talent."

The pain ratchets up, and I rip apart my voice with my shrieking.

"You're stuck here forever, Odette," Lucifer whispers.

"And I'm never letting you go."

My screams no longer sound human.


	7. If You Want Blood (You Got It)

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**My starlings! My starlings!**

**Yes, that's right, I'm back! Exams are over... so I should be able to update more frequently, but my school is having some yearly celebration, which means they work us like slaves. (-_-)**

**Anyway, here it is!**

**Yes, yes, I know, I'm a pitiless monster.**

**But this isn't even the worst yet.**

**Chapter title and lyrics borrowed from AC/DC.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! **

**On with it, shall we?**

CHAPTER SEVEN- IF YOU WANT BLOOD (YOU'VE GOT IT)

Thirty years.

Thirty years I've spent screaming in hell.

It feels like a century.

Here, in Lucifer's cage, my whole definition of pain has changed.

Lucifer has stripped away everything but my ability to feel pain.

My ability to scream.

I find it oddly freeing- it is easier to just shriek.

I do not need to be reminded of who I am.

Of what I am.

Lucifer has offered me the same choice Alistair did.

Every time I refuse, the pain gets worse.

If that's possible.

I don't know how much longer I can last.

I am weakening.

This is something I'm not strong enough to handle.

But I've never been strong enough for anything.

I am locked in a cage of blood and bone and fear with the devil himself.

There is nothing I can do to evade his wrath.

It is freezingly, numbingly cold.

I have long since stopped screaming.

I am too busy choking on my own blood.

Lucifer begins taunting me, and I close my eyes.

This is more than I can take.

_"It's animal, livin' in a human zoo,"_ Lucifer drawls.

_"Feeling like a Christian, locked in a cage,_"

I press my lips together, keeping my eyes shut.

I do not want to see the mockery I have become.

_"Thrown to the lions, on the second page._"

I find my voice again.

It comes out in a scream.

Lucifer dips his finger in my blood.

_"If you want blood, you got it,_

_Blood on the streets, blood on the rocks,_

_Blood in the gutter, every last drop_."

I stare at the red liquid pooling between my arms.

"So, what's it gonna be, Odette?" Lucifer says conversationally.

I can't do it.

I just can't.

I'm not strong enough.

I never was.

This is just the final straw.

Hell has broken me.

Lucifer has broken me.

If I hated myself before, it is nothing compared to what I feel now.

The tears trickle down my cheek.

_I'm sorry, Dean, Sam. I'm going to let you down. I don't have the strength to go on any longer_.

My last thought before I give myself up is that Cas was right to leave me.

_Forgive me, Castiel_.

I spit out blood and seal my doom.

"I'll do it," I say.

Lucifer pulls away.

I can sense his satisfaction.

I curse myself for being so weak.

He continues singing, still mocking me.

_"It's criminal, _

_There ought to be a law,_

_Criminal,_

_There ought to be a whole lot more,_

_You get nothing for nothing,_

_Tell me who can you trust,_

_We got what you want,_

_And you got the lust_."

I shakily get to my feet.

Lucifer does not stop me.

I loathe myself for what I am about to do, but I am too weak.

I'm signing my own death warrant.

My voice does not sound like my own as I speak.

It is cold, and foreign.

Indifferent.

"Tell me what to do."

Lucifer silently hands me a knife.

It is slick with my own blood.

Soon, it will be covered with someone else's.

I finally have a name for myself here.

Monster.


	8. It's A Long Way To The Top

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**Still a pitiless monster.**

**So sue me.**

**Chapter title borrowed from AC/DC.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! **

**On with it, shall we?**

CHAPTER EIGHT- IT'S A LONG WAY TO THE TOP

"No! Please, no!"

I used to be the one begging.

The tables have definitely turned.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alistair lounging casually in the corner of the room.

"Ten years with Lucifer and you broke," He mocks. "I'm not surprised."

He is right.

I turn my eyes back to the soul tied down on the rack.

This is the first person I will torture.

I hate myself for what I am about to do.

_I'm sorry_.

I pick up the scalpel and move forward.

The soul's screams reverberate through the room.

The last few dregs of my humanity slip away.

~Supernatural~

My hands are slick with blood, and my breath comes in short, painful gasps.

This is worse, so much worse, than being tortured myself.

Yet... there was a part of me that enjoyed it.

I close my eyes.

Self-loathing is too mild a word to describe what I'm feeling now.

The tears prick at my eyes, but I do not let them fall.

Weakness is not tolerated in hell.

I've learned that the hard way.

I have become what I once used to hunt.

A monster.

Odette Slessor is gone, leaving nothing but a monster in it's place.

This is all that's left behind.

I am all that's left behind.

The scalpel clatters to the ground.

Alistair claps slowly, wheeling the gurney away.

"I'm sorry," I whisper slowly to it, trying to make it understand.

I see only hate and fear in the soul's eyes.

"Exquisite," Alistair says delightedly.

"Such rage... you have potential, darling."

My fists clench together.

"Never in all my years..." Alistair continues.

"Exquisite," He repeats.

That's when the room begins to shake.

~Supernatural~

Jared's voice suddenly echoes in my head.

_It's a devil's gate, Odette! This is your only chance. Run!_

I take advantage of Alistair's confusion, running from the room.

A devil's gate is opening.

It's my only hope.

Alistair snarls, lunging for my ankle.

"You're never getting out," He hisses.

But Alistair has forgotten how much stronger I am.

How much my powers have been growing.

How much I've been training.

I send him careening to the other end of the room with a short burst of energy.

It will not last long.

Not against a demon of Alistair's caliber.

I race through the pits of hell, ignoring the agonized wails.

I have screamed long enough with them.

I force myself to stop.

I cannot leave without Jared.

_Jared, where are you?_

I stifle my shriek as a blood-soaked hand wraps around mine.

Somehow, he has come through for me.

As always.

"Come on!" He urges.

We flee through hell.

Occasionally, we encounter demons, but they never catch us.

I jerk to a stop as I see the thrashing mass of demons around the rip in hell's atmosphere.

The gate.

"We'll fight our way through," Jared says grimly.

So we do.

I claw my way through the line of demons, kicking and punching and maiming, pulling Jared along.

It is easier than I expected.

Amitiel has trained me well.

I am close enough now to see the gate, a swirling vortex of black.

It is getting smaller by the minute.

So I fight harder, struggling in the roiling mass of bodies.

We are almost there.

But the gate is only a thin slit now.

There is room for only one person to slip through.

"You're going," Jared says instantly.

"No." I reply stubbornly.

"I'm not leaving you, and if that means staying in hell, so be it."

Jared's eyes flare.

"Listen to me, Odette. Lucifer can get out, and get out he will. You have to stop him. You have to save Dean, find Sam. Let me go, Odette. Find your real family. "

My eyes fill with tears as I stare at him.

How can I bear to let him leave me again?

How can I let him go?

"GO!" Jared roars, pushing me towards the gate.

I hang on to his arms.

"I love you," I whisper brokenly.

But now, it's not enough.

Jared has no chance to answer me as two demons pull him away.

He screams in pain.

I turn around at once, trying to get to him, but I am too close to the gate.

I can feel it.

"JARED!" I shriek, but it's too late.

It's pulling me up, twisting me around, and I'm falling, trying to get to Jared, but I'm being reeled upwards, and the blood is roaring in my ears...

And suddenly I hit the ground.

I huddle on the grass as the black smoke of the demons whooshes over me.

The gate finally shuts.

Once I'm sure they are gone, I shakily get to my feet.

I stare uncomprehendingly at my slim, smooth hands.

No blood, no scars.

I'm really free, then.

I've escaped hell... but Jared hasn't.

The sound of my own sobbing scares me.

It's a terrible price.

Jared is burning in hell, and I am free.

It should be him standing here.

The irony of this situation does not escape me.

The day I'm finally free from hell is the day I deserve to go right back in the pit.

I glance around at my surroundings.

This is the same clearing where Cas left.

Even now, just thinking of him twists a knife in my heart.

This doesn't make sense.

My body should be dust and bones by now.

Yet it is just the same as before.

I look at my reflection in the puddle of water at my feet, and jerk back a step.

I am almost unrecognizable.

My hair is matted and tangled, my face is covered with tear-tracks.

My clothes are ripped and tattered, and there are long scratches down my arms and legs.

But the worst are my eyes.

They are almost black, and hooded, haunted even.

They do not look human.

I can almost see hell burning in my eyes.

I look wild and alien, inhuman.

Feral.

I realize with a slow roll of nausea that I look exactly like the Odette I saw in Mary Worthington's mirror.

I let out a single, tortured scream.


	9. Broken Hearts Parade

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**Aren't you glad? She's out of hell!**

**(You can start thanking me now, you know. I was planning on her staying for another five chapters.)**

**Chapter title borrowed from Good Charlotte.**

**Lyrics borrowed from Bon Jovi's 'Always.'**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! **

**On with it, shall we?**

_It's been raining since you left me,_

_Now I'm drowning in the flood,_

_You see, I've always been a fighter,_

_But without you, I give up._

CHAPTER NINE- BROKEN HEARTS PARADE

Dawn stretches its rose-red fingers over the horizon, caressing the sky lovingly.

The beauty does nothing to move me.

For me, it is always night.

With trembling fingers, I grab a cigarette and light it up.

I inhale a shaky breath, taking in a greedy, long pull.

I sigh in relief.

It'll stave it off for some time.

And once the effects finish...

My eyes stray to the beer bottles lined in a neat row inside the glass cabinet.

Well, I have a plan for that, too.

One month has passed since I climbed out of that devil's gate.

I was wrong.

I am not free from hell.

I never will be.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Alistair's face.

I see Lucifer.

I see my own broken body.

I see the face of the soul I tortured.

I see Jared screaming in pain.

I pour out a glass of beer, taking in gulps of alcohol.

This is my way of coping.

But that's too generous a word.

This is my way of _existing_.

Life after death.

Had it been up to me, I would've ended my life fifteen days ago.

But I know where I'm going after I die.

And this time, I deserve it.

I am trapped, suffocated.

I can't go back, and I can't go forward.

I never really left hell.

This is almost as bad.

Rage floods through me, and I jump to my feet, punching the wooden plank to the side of me.

It breaks into two.

My hands do not even bruise.

I have my wish.

I am strong now, stronger than I've ever been.

But the price I've had to pay isn't worth it.

Hell has acted as a catalyst to my powers.

Pushed to breaking point, it has been the final straw.

I've unlocked my powers- in full.

This is the only way I can explain it.

I flex my hand.

My pistol shoots upwards, hovering in mid-air.

This is the least of my abilities.

I vault off the sofa.

Physically, too, I am no longer weak.

I can hold my own in a fight.

I've been training- desperate for a distraction.

I glance at my toned legs.

The sight does not bring me any satisfaction.

Hell has broken me.

If I'm being honest, it's not the only thing.

_He_ has broken me.

I grit my teeth together.

I still can't force myself to speak his name, let alone think of it.

I still can't accept that I love him.

I am living in my old house.

My father is dead.

His death brings a muted sort of grief, my mind is not capable of shouldering so many painful emotions, it pushes away those which are no longer needed.

Except the one that matters the most.

There is only so much I can take.

I have not tried to find Sam.

How can I?

How can I look him in the eye after all I have done?

I miss him terribly, but I cannot see him.

Just as much as I miss Dean.

And I miss _him_ most of all.

There are only two hunts I am actively working on.

The first is to rescue Dean from hell.

The second is to save Jared.

This time, my eyes remain dry.

I have long since perfected the art of suppressing my emotions until I am almost numb.

Almost indifferent.

Almost.

It will not help me with what I plan to do.

I resort to drinking and smoking.

I do not care if it harms my body- I will take anything to block out the pain.

I ignore the voice in my head that whispers that this is exactly what my father did.

That this is what led to his death.

I stare out the window.

The sun is still a faint, orange glow in the east.

I cannot sleep.

I must not sleep.

Every time I do, I revisit hell.

Once was bad enough.

I don't need a reminder.

But there are times I do fall asleep, out of sheer exhaustion, and then nothing can keep the nightmares away.

Nothing at all.

I stand and look at myself in the mirror.

I am no longer the clueless, naive Odette Slessor of a year ago.

Or should I say thirty years ago?

I look broken.

I look beaten.

I stare at the topmost cupboard.

I feel a strange, prickling sensation at the nape of my neck, an odd sixth sense that tells me to open it.

I clutch my bowie knife tightly, flinging it open.

Inside lies a silver sword, very much like the one Alistair used on Amitiel.

A name is scratched onto it in red letters, in some arcane language I do not understand.

I realize without any real surprise that it is written in blood.

A note falls out into my hand as I pull it down.

_Just in case_ _you need to use it._

Somebody knocks on my door.


	10. Melt My Heart To Stone

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**That's right, Dean and Sam are back!**

**And so is Cas.**

**Chapter title borrowed from Adele.**

**Lyrics borrowed from Shinedown's 'My Name (Wearing Me Out)'**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! **

**On with it, shall we?**

_My name is worthless like you told me I once was,__  
My name is empty 'cause you drained away all the love,__  
My name is searching since you stole my only soul__,__  
My name is hatred, and the reasons we both know__._

CHAPTER TEN- MELT MY HEART TO STONE

I move forward cautiously, gripping the knife in one hand.

I keep the angel sword within easy reach, flinging open the door.

My knife clatters to the ground.

I am staring at Dean and Sam Winchester.

~Supernatural~

I spare a brief look at Sam, drinking in his apparent health.

But I have eyes only for Dean.

It's him.

I can feel it.

How has he gotten out?

Dean grins, the same, cocky, arrogant smirk that I love so much.

"Heya, Bambi."

I am across the room in a second, flinging my arms around him, and suddenly, I'm fourteen years old again, reaching on tiptoe to hug Dean.

"Dean," I whisper, burying my head in his shoulder. "Is it really you?"

He wraps his arms around me.

"It's me," Dean says gently.

I inhale in the scent of car oil and leather, a scent so distinctly, inexplicably _Dean_, and for the first time in days, I feel safe.

Tears collect at the corner of my eyes.

I can almost believe everything will be alright again.

I have my big brother back.

Dean chuckles, ruffling my hair affectionately.

"I've missed you, kid."

I hang on for a second longer, reluctantly letting him go.

"I've missed you too," I murmur.

More than he will ever know.

I turn, slightly shamefacedly, to Sam.

What must he think of me now, abandoning him when he needed me most.

I need not have feared.

Sam extends his arms, and I run into them.

I have both my brothers back.

I brush away a stray lock of hair from Sam's forehead, looking at him properly.

"I'm glad you're here," He says.

With both of them around me, I can almost forget hell.

Hell.

I can't ever tell them.

I sink onto the sofa.

I will have to lie-and that has never been my strong suit.

Dean and Sam join me.

Dean crosses his arms, and this time, his tone is brusque.

"You mind telling us where the hell you've been these past months?"

But I ignore him.

I have finally noticed the third man standing stiffly in the corner.

Or should I say angel?

_"You!_" I spit, vaulting off the sofa. "You have the nerve to show your face here, after everything!"

I am staring at Castiel.

All my rage collects into one, hot wave of impulse, and I pick up the silver sword, charging Castiel.

However strong I may have become, I still can't beat an angel.

Cas twists it away soon enough, but he finds it more difficult than he expected.

Two twin instincts are warring inside of me.

I love him, and yet I am bitterly, achingly angry with him.

They mix together, my emotions, until I am not sure which is which.

But my sense of betrayal is strongest.

"Out," I snarl. "Out this very instant, you son of a bitch."

It costs me all my energy not to sink to the floor sobbing.

Dean and Sam are looking at us confusedly, but I disregard them.

This is between Cas and me.

His eyes are stricken, but I know better than to fall for his lies.

Not again.

I have given him enough power as it is.

"Odette, please," Cas pleads. "Just let me-"

I do not let him finish.

My fury boils over, and I slap him across the cheek.

It does nothing but bruise my arm, but I'm glad I did it.

Dean pulls me back, but I break away from his hold.

"Get out!" I am dangerously close to tears.

"After everything," I whisper, throat constricted.

"Everything you did, how can you come back here?"

After he'd stomped on my heart and broken it into a million pieces.

"Please ," Cas urges. "Just let me explain. I'm so sorry-"

That does it.

"I don't fucking care!" I yell, and I call him every name I know, throwing out my words like knives, because I want to make him hurt the way he hurt me.

"You're sorry," I shout. "You're sorry you kicked me to the curb like I was some mongrel you didn't want? It doesn't change anything, Castiel!"

He is still hurting me.

Because I love him, and it will never, ever be enough.

My anger reaches breaking point, and I lose it.

The ground begins to shake under me, and thunder rumbles in the distance.

I do not care that I am wasting too much of my power.

I actually make Cas skitter back a few steps with nothing but my mind.

He looks stunned.

So do Dean and Sam.

"Odette-"

"Enough," I say, and my voice is tight.

"You've done enough, and you've definitely said enough."

"Leave," I hiss.

Cas refuses to go.

"Odette, I-"

"Shut up!" I yell.

"You think you can just come in here and waltz back into my life?"

"It's your fault I went to hell!" I scream.

There is utter silence in the room.

And there it is.

I've just blurted out the one thing I've wanted to hide.

Cas is speechless.

Dean is the first to speak.

His voice cuts through the air like a whip.

"What?"

I laugh hysterically.

"So Castiel didn't tell you?"

My eyes burn with accusation as I stare at him.

"Not one day after you died he leaves me in the woods, says he's tired of putting up with us."

This is an exaggeration, but I'm too far gone to care.

"Leaves me there, and some demon drags me to hell."

Dean punches Cas in the face, carefully hiding his groan of pain.

"You sick bastard! You promised me you'd take care of her!"

Cas' eyes hold more expression than they ever have before.

"Dean, I-"

"Thirty years," I cut across him. "Thirty years I spent screaming in hell."

"Odette, I had no idea you were in hell," Cas whispers.

"If I did, I'd have tried to save you, I swear. I'm so sorry."

I laugh humorlessly.

"Yeah, everything's alright, isn't it, Castiel? As long as you're sorry."

Sam wraps an arm around my shoulder, and I welcome the support.

I hate doing this, but I have to.

I have to cut him out of my life.

For good.

"All those years," I say softly. "I kept screaming for someone to help me, for anyone to help me. For _you_ to help me."

My eyes are glistening, but I don't let a single tear fall.

I cannot let him see me in my most vulnerable state.

Not anymore.

"I needed you, Cas. You didn't need me."

Dean eyes him with hate.

My attention suddenly shifts.

I grip Dean's arm.

"What about you, Dean? How'd you get out?"

Dean swallows, glaring at Cas reluctantly.

"Go," I say to Cas. "Or I'll make you regret this."

"I will," I repeat.

But the only one I'm trying to convince is myself.

Do I have the courage to end this, once and for all?

I am no longer sure.

Dean speaks slowly, unwillingly.

"You can't kill him."

"Why the hell not?" I ask incredulously.

Dean's eyes tighten.

"Because he's the one who pulled me out of hell."


	11. Who Killed Bambi?

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**That's right, Dean PoV!**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! **

**Chapter name borrowed from the Sex Pistols. **

**On with it, shall we?**

CHAPTER ELEVEN- WHO KILLED BAMBI?

Fresh out of hell, and I don't get one day of peace.

First off, Bambi's MIA, and Sam's a nervous wreck.

Then, once we finally find her, a whole new crisis is dumped on my head.

Odette in hell.

Cas kicking her to the curb.

I want to punch him straight in his stupid face.

Son of a bitch had promised me he'd look after Bambi!

And what had he done?

Left Odette to get dragged into hell.

Left my sweet, innocent sister to an eternity of torture.

I'm itching to kill him.

If only I knew how.

"So you know," Odette says quietly. "About Lucifer and the Seals."

"Yeah, unfortunately," Sam replies, looking at her worriedly.

This time, I think his mother-henning is justified.

Bambi is worrying me too.

Except...she doesn't seem like Bambi anymore.

She doesn't even look like Bambi anymore-at least not the Bambi I know.

She even dresses different.

She's in tight skinny jeans and a vest with a black leather jacket over it, with these really pointy black boots and skull earrings.

Skull earrings, I kid you not.

Her hair is spikier than before, and looks almost black, and it is streaked purple in places.

Even her eyes are done up with this totally thick eyeliner, almost like raccoon eyes.

On anyone else, it would have looked comical, but on Odette, it just looks badass.

(Sam just asked me when I started noticing this stuff. I tell him to shove it.)

Odette has always been beautiful, but now...she looks sexy.

Way sexy.

And I feel dirty just thinking about it, because, hell, this is my sister.

Okay, my drop-dead gorgeous sister, but brothers don't notice that kind of stuff!

They just don't.

In short, Odette looks unrecognizable.

Nothing like herself.

She sits back down on the sofa.

"Why are you here?" She asks Cas coldly.

Cas looks at her tentatively.

"My superiors decided to send me here to assist you with restraining Lucifer."

Odette's eyes flare.

"We don't need your help," She snaps.

Cas looks guilty, but his voice is steady.

"I'm not allowed to leave," He answers.

If looks can kill, Cas will be dead on the floor.

They stare at each other for a long moment.

Odette gives up.

"Fine," She snarls.

"Stay. See if I care. But this is purely business. Nothing else."

Cas looks more miserable than I've ever seen him, but he says: "If that's what you want."

Odette ignores him, sitting back on her sofa.

Sam eyes her uncertainly.

"Odette...how'd you get out of hell?"

Her eyes tighten.

"A devil's gate opened. I climbed my way out."

We blink at her.

She purses her lips together.

"I had help," Odette admits.

"Help? From who?" Sam asks, mystified.

"Jared," Odette whispers, and her eyes glisten.

Silence.

None of us know what to say.

Odette jumps up and digs around under the cushions.

She brings out my leather jacket.

I stare numbly at it.

"I think it's time you wear it again," Odette holds it out.

And just for a second, I can see the old Bambi behind all the eyeliner and make-up.

Just for a second.

"Thanks," I say gruffly, slipping it on.

Odette's eyes suddenly slide over to Cas, and she pulls her weird silver sword back.

Without moving an inch.

My eyes narrow.

"I thought I told you not to use your powers," I say quietly.

Sam twitches uneasily.

"Dean," She stares at me with her big doe eyes.

"You don't understand. Hell unlocked my powers- I had to use them, or I'd have never gotten out."

My anger fades a bit.

How can I blame her for trying to escape, when I know what hell is like?

"Besides, it's not even demon blood," Odette says quickly.

"I'm supposed to be a descendant of Metatron, or something."

Cas jerks at this, but doesn't stay anything.

Yet.

The gesture doesn't escape Odette, but she ignores him.

And then Cas has to open his big fat mouth.

"Where did you get the sword?"

Odette's eyes turn cool and detached.

"From a friend," She says coolly, impassively.

Her voice is cold and brittle.

Nothing like the Odette I know.

Cas points at the sword.

"_Veritas_."

Odette's eyes narrow, but she evidently decides to speak.

"Amitiel."

Recognition flashes over Cas' face.

Recognition and horror.

Odette smiles grimly.

"So you know who she is. You knew an angel was in hell, and you did nothing to stop it."

My head is beginning to ache.

"Whoa there, back up a second," I say testily.

"Explain. From the beginning."

Sam wraps an arm around her shoulder.

"What was it like..." He trails off. "In hell?"

Odette's eyes turn glassy and distant.

"Don't ask me that, Sam. Please."

"I-"

"Leave her alone," I say pointedly.

Once is bad enough-for both of us.

I don't want to remind her of hell.

No more than she already has been.

Unexpectedly, Odette grabs my hand.

"I can only imagine what it must've been like for you... you were in there longer than I was."

I shake my hand free.

"I don't remember hell," I say quickly.

Odette surveys me doubtfully.

Has she detected the false note in my voice?

"I must've... must've blocked it out," I stammer.

I don't like lying.

But this is something I can't talk about.

She lets it pass, laughing mirthlessly.

"Then you're the luckiest man alive, Dean. Because I remember every second."

Her eyes seem almost black, and it is Cas they accuse as she continues speaking.

"Meg was right. Hell is a prison of bone and blood and flesh and fear, and you're trapped in there with no way out. Nothing to do but scream and scream and keep screaming until you rip out your own throat."

Her lips pull back in a snarl, and Cas actually takes a step back from the anger in her eyes.

She's really gone, then.

This isn't the innocent, gentle girl I left behind.

"I ran into an angel named Amitiel," Odette explains.

"She seemed to know who I was. Why I was there. She helped me train, get stronger."

She deliberately leaves out explaining about Jared, and I don't push her.

She's suffered enough.

I don't want my sister to hurt anymore.

Cas decides to speak again.

"Where is Amitiel?"

Odette glares at him.

"She's dead," She says harshly.

"What do you suggest we do, _Castiel?_"

Cas flinches back from the venom in her voice.

I'd feel sorry for him, but the bastard deserves it.

But Cas isn't soft.

"Stay here," Cas says.

"Drop everything and try and stop Lucifer. I'll help you."

"Help," Odette mocks bitterly.

"Sure. Just like you helped me when I was in hell?"

Cas stops short, and he seems genuinely sorry.

But I know better than to trust in liars.

"I'm sorry, Odette."

"Whatever."

"I don't care," Odette replies, and sounds almost convincing.

Almost.

"It's late," She changes the subject abruptly.

"Why don't you and Sam take the rooms on the left-they're spare."

Sam gets to his feet, but I wait.

"Odette?"

She turns back to look at me.

"Yeah?"

"Isn't this your dad's house?"

Her voice is completely emotionless.

Frighteningly so.

"He's dead, Dean."

~Supernatural~

Something clinks in the living room.

I look at my watch.

It's one o'clock in the morning.

I move forward cautiously, then freeze as I look into the room.

Odette is sitting rigidly in her armchair, drinking a glass full of amber liquid.

Beer.

She holds a cigarette carelessly in one hand.

Plumes of white smoke envelope the room.

Her expression does not change when she looks at me.

"Hey, Dean. Why aren't you asleep?"

I cross my arms together.

"I could ask you the same."

Odette drains the glass in another minute.

"Hell in HD is bad enough on its own. I don't need a re-run, Dean."

My retort is lost as I look at my sister.

The Bambi I knew is long dead and gone.

No, that's the wrong word.

The Bambi I knew has been killed.

My eyes sweep the room, noting the overflowing ashtray, the long line of beer bottles, and finally the niggling sensation at the back of my head makes sense.

I know who she reminds me of.

Me.


	12. If Time Is All I Have

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**I'm picking up straight off from Monster Movie.**

**Dean'll find out about Sam using his powers later- as will Odette.**

**And, yes, this is Cas PoV. **

**Don't you wanna know what he's thinking?**

**Chapter name borrowed from James Blunt.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! **

**On with it, shall we?**

CHAPTER TWELVE- IF TIME IS ALL I HAVE

I knew the second after I'd left Odette that it'd been a mistake.

And then the order to raise Dean from perdition had fallen upon me.

I remember being so afraid- frightened, even, when I could no longer locate Odette.

I watch her now, slim fingers wrapped around a glass tightly, hair falling softly over one shoulder.

Even from my position, the scent of alcohol is sharp and clear, burning in my nose.

_Your fault_, Jimmy whispers.

And it is.

All mine.

It is my fault that Odette has spent thirty years in hell.

Thirty years burning in the pit.

I might as well have handed her over to the demon myself.

I can see her now-_really_ see her, and the true consequence of what I have done only hits me when I see her soul.

Her light is gone.

Hell has ripped away her innocence, submerged her identity under layers of pain and anger and misery.

She is almost unrecognizable.

Hell has broken her.

I have broken her.

And all that anger is directed at me.

I deserve it-in full measure.

Because I am the reason her soul is marred, stained with hell's poison.

And for all that, scarred and hurting as it is, it is still achingly, hauntingly beautiful.

Odette looks around- twice her eyes pass over the spot where I am standing.

Her powers are stronger than she knows.

Uriel decides to join me.

"Hello, Castiel."

I do not answer him.

This does not affect Uriel in the slightest.

"It appears our orders have changed."

"Yes," I say quietly. "They have."

Uriel eyes Odette contemplatively.

Why does it send a flash of irritation through me?

"You know, I think I like her better now," He remarks conversationally.

"She needed toughening up a bit."

Jimmy growls wordlessly in the back of my mind.

He does not like Uriel.

"Leave, Uriel," I say blankly.

For some reason, I don't want him around Odette.

"You still haven't learnt your lesson," Uriel warns.

"Don't get any closer to the girl, Castiel. She'll be the death of you."

I do not respond.

I have heard the same warnings over and over again, and when I was foolish enough to go along with them, the result was fatal.

I have ruined Odette.

I have destroyed her, and whatever peace she has left.

Condemned her to decades of agony.

"You don't believe me," Uriel's eyes tighten.

"Then ask Odette what she did in hell."

He turns to go.

"That's, of course, if she even forgives you," Uriel adds, and then he is gone.

_I wouldn't_, Jimmy hisses angrily.

I watch Odette as she mechanically goes through the process of researching.

Dean and Sam are in the other room- I know they are worried.

But unlike me, they are not responsible for what has happened.

I have to try and fix this.

If she will even let me.

_"It's your fault I went to hell!"_

It is.

And she will never, ever forgive me for it.


	13. The Whole Album Horror Show

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

**I'll be picking up from the second half of Monster Movie.**

**Chapter name borrowed from Iced Earth.**

**On with it, shall we?**

CHAPTER THIRTEEN- THE WHOLE ALBUM HORROR SHOW

I'm not too keen on going on a regular hunt- we have the Apocalypse to deal with.

And Lucifer.

A chill crawls up my spine as I think of my jailor.

Will I be able to face him?

I don't think so.

But Dean insisted, and I don't have the heart to deny him.

Neither does Sam, I think.

Something has changed about him- I can sense it.

I don't know whether it's because of my heightened powers, or simply just my intuition.

Sam is different...darker, somehow.

But then again, who am I to judge?

The person I am now, and the person I was a year ago are two very different people.

The Odette of last year is not as guilty as I am.

She didn't have blood on her hands.

I do.

Neither was she so broken.

Dean eyes me calculatingly as we walk down the dark alleyway.

I see no sign of the vampire.

Or is it a werewolf, now?

I try not to think of how much simpler it would be if Cas were here.

Leave alone the case, I ache to see him.

And I ache even more, because I know I can't.

Not after what's he done.

Not when I love him.

This is the time the Dracula-impostor decides to make an appearance.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean roars.

My mouth pops open as Dracula speaks in an affected, Transylvanian accent.

"You should not use such language in the presence of my bride."

_Bride?_ I think wordlessly.

That's when Dracula knocks me out before I have a chance to defend myself.

Everything disappears.

"Mina is mine," I hear him drawl.

~Supernatural~

I find myself prostrate on a bed.

"You're awake," Dracula notes.

He gestures to a white satin dress hanging by the bed.

"The gown-it suits your beauty. Please, put it on."

I decide to bide my time.

"Where am I? I ask sharply. "What have you done with Dean?"

Dracula's face sours.

"Harker is resting elsewhere. Please, put the gown on and you may dine. We are having pizza."

"What?"

I blink at him.

"What is wrong with you? Mina doesn't exist, okay? My name is Odette!"

Dracula grits his teeth.

"Put on the gown."

I don't have the patience for this.

"I don't want to play your stupid game, okay?" I hiss.

"Put on the gown!" Dracula yells.

...

I look ridiculous- like a girl out of a fairytale, but I decide to play along.

I know what he is now.

A shapeshifter.

That explains how Dean was able to rip off his ear.

Dracula lowers his voice.

"I-I scared you."

"You were the only one I don't want to scare."

He turns to see me.

"I used to love the movies-but you are far more beautiful than all the other Mina's."

I roll my eyes.

"They aren't real."

"You can't make them real," I stress.

"_Real_ is being born this way," Dracula retorts.

"Different. _Real_ is having your dad call you monster-it's the first time you hear the word."

He turns away from me again.

"And he tries to beat you to death with a shovel. Everywhere I ran, everywhere I tried to hide, people found me, dragged me. Called me _freak_, called me _monster_."

"Then I found them," Dracula whispers, pupils dilated.

"The great monsters. In their movies, they were strong, feared. They were beautiful."

"Commanding," And his accent comes out stronger.

"Terrifying.

"Lonely," I add softly.

"I was lonely," Dracula admits, fingering his cape.

"Now I-I have you."

Pity shakes me as I look at him.

I know a thing or two about being a monster-about what it costs.

Something rustles outside the room.

"Did you hear that?"

"What?"

"Dean!" I call.

"Dean!"

Dracula knocks me out again.

~Supernatural~

I wake up to an extremely fake Hungarian accent.

"You will never be Van Helsing!"

I muffle a groan.

Monsters are one thing.

Crazy monsters are a whole different ballgame.

Dracula throws Sam through the wall.

"And you, Harker, now you die!"

Dracula throws Dean to the ground, about to finish him off.

I pick up the gun and shoot.

"Silver?"

Dracula turns around to see me holding the gun.

"It was beauty that killed the beast."

He staggers, lurching to and fro, until he finally slumps on the ground.

I shove him away from me, conscious of Dean and Sam's eyes on me.

This, in actuality, is my first kill.

"Every monster movie ends the same way," I tell Dracula's dead body.

"And yours just got over."


	14. You'll Never Walk Alone

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! **

**Chapter name borrowed from The Man From LaMancha.**

**It's fun saying it, isn't it?**

**LaMancha! **

**On with it, shall we? **

CHAPTER FOURTEEN- YOU'LL NEVER WALK ALONE

"No way that was a heart attack," Dean says firmly.

"Definitely no way," Sam seconds.

"Three victims, all with those same red scratches. All went from jittery to terrified to dead within forty-eight hours."

"Something scared them to death?" I ask skeptically.

"All right," Sam chews his lip. "So what can do that?"

"What can't?" Dean replies.

"Ghosts, vampires, chupacabra? It could be a hundred things."

"Yeah," I nod. "So we make a list and start crossing things off."

"Alright, who's the last person to see Frank O'Brien alive?" Sam looks at us expectantly.

"Uh, his neighbor, Mark Hutchins."

I am about to cross the road-and the barest trace of a smile ghosts over my face.

I have my hunting partners back.

I have my brothers back.

I try not to think about who I've lost.

For good.

My fingers shake, and I hurriedly slip out a cigarette, holding it between my lips.

Dean's eyes narrow, and he's about to say something when he catches sight of a few teenagers talking near the Impala.

I realize with a stab of bitterness that they are older than I am.

And yet they manage to look so carefree.

"Hang on," Dean fortunately distracts me.

"I don't like the looks of those teenagers down there."

Sam and I stare at the laughing, joking bunch of teenagers.

Resentment surges through me, but I press it down until I can almost ignore it.

This isn't the right place-or time.

"Let's walk this way."

Dean takes the opposite side of the road.

We stare after him, perplexed.

~Supernatural~

Dean eyes Mark's big lizard uneasily.

"So, uh," Dean hesitates.

"Do you know, uh, do you know what scared Frank?"

"Well, yeah," Mark nods vigorously. "Witches."

The three of us exchange a look.

"Witches?" Sam echoes. "Like...?"

"Well, Wizard Of Oz was on TV the other night, right?" Mark checks.

"And he said that green bitch was totally out to get him."

I try, and fail to keep a straight face.

"Anything else scare him?" I ask.

Mark rolls his eyes.

"Everything else scared him. Al-Qaeda, ferrets, artificial sweetener. Those pez dispensers with their dead little eyes. Lots of stuff."

Dean glances uneasily at Mark's animals again.

"So, tell me," Sam pushes. "What was Frank like?"

Mark looks around shiftily.

"I mean, he's dead, you know? I-I don't want to hammer him, but he got better."

"He got better?" Sam repeats.

"Well, in high school, he was, he was a dick," Mark offers.

"Like a bully," He adds.

"I mean, he probably taped half the town's butt cheeks together."

Dean snickers.

"Mine included," Mark admits.

"So he pissed a lot of people off," Dean notes.

"You think anyone would have wanted to get revenge?"

"Well, I don't..." Mark stammers. "Frank had a heart attack, right?"

"Just answer the question, sir," I say expressionlessly.

"No, I don't think so," Mark shakes his head.

"Like I said, he got better. After what happened to his wife-"

"His wife?" Dean interrupts. "So he was married.

"She died about twenty years ago. Frank was really broken up about it."

Dean starts staring at the snake around Mark's neck.

He notices.

"Don't be scared of Donny," He cooes.

"He's a sweetheart. It's Marie you got to look out for."

Mark gestures to the couch.

"She smells fear."

Dean freezes as an albino snake crawls down his lap.

I do not flinch as Marie slides over onto my lap, not even when I feel her slimy skin.

There are far worse things than snakes.

~Supernatural~

"Frank's place is clean," Sam reports. "No EMF, no hex bags, no sulphur."

"So probably no ghosts, no witches, no demons," Dean finishes.

I take a cursory look at my papers.

"Frank's wife, Jessie, was a manic-depressive. Went off her meds back in '88 and vanished. They found her strung up in a motel room."

"Frank, however," I flip over a few more pages.

"Had an airtight alibi. Working a swing shift, I think."

Dean drives through the intersection, past our hotel.

"Dude, where are you going?" Sam demands. "That was our hotel."

"Sam," Dean says forcefully.

"I'm not gonna make a left-hand turn into oncoming traffic. I'm not suicidal."

We give him a confused look.

"Did I just say that?" Dean frowns. "That was kind of weird."

Something goes off in the background.

"Do you hear something?"

I take out the EMF meter, bringing it close to Dean.

It beeps frantically.

~Supernatural~

"Dude, look at this," Dean stretches out his arm for me to see.

It's covered with angry red scratches.

Sam comes up, throwing a box of donuts to Dean.

Dean sniffs them and throws them back in the car.

My mouth drops open.

"I just talked to Bobby," Sam says.

"And?"

"Um," Sam rocks back on his heels. "Well, you're not gonna like it."

"Why?" I ask anxiously.

"It's ghost sickness."

"Ghost sickness?" Dean echoes.

"God, no."

"Yeah," Sam nods.

"I don't even know what that is," Dean admits.

"Okay," Sam explains fast.

"Symptoms are you get anxious, then scared, then really scared, then your heart gives out. Sound familiar?"

"But I haven't seen a ghost in weeks-"

I cut off Dean's objection.

"Frank. It must have been Frank," I realize. "He was the first to die."

"So, now what?" Dean says acerbically.

"I have forty-eight hours before I go insane and my heart stops?"

"More like twenty-four," Sam corrects.

"Why me?" Dean asks. "I mean, you got hit with the spleen juice."

"Yeah, um, Bobby and I have a theory about that," Sam says.

"Turns out all three victims shared a certain, uh, personality type. Frank was a bully. The other two victims, one was a vice principal, the other was a bouncer."

"Okay." Dean waits.

"Basically, they were all dicks," Sam adds.

Dean huffs.

"So you're saying I'm a dick?"

"No, no, no," Sam says quickly. "It's not just that. All three victims used fear as a weapon, and now this disease is just returning the favor."

"I don't scare people," Dean refutes.

I sigh.

"Dean, all we do is scare people," I point out.

"Whatever," Dean shrugs. "How do we stop it?"

"We gank the ghost that started all this," Sam answers.

"We do that, the disease should clear up."

I raise an eyebrow.

"You thinking Frank's wife?"

"Who knows why she killed herself?" Sam retorts.

I look back at Dean.

I know what this means.

It means Dean is living on a deadline.

Again.


	15. Fear Is The Key

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**Ah, how I love Yellow Fever! **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

**Chapter name borrowed from Iron Maiden.**

**On with it, shall we?**

CHAPTER FIFTEEN- FEAR IS THE KEY

I stare at the broken clock on the floor.

Dean is on the sofa, drinking beer.

I decide to go ahead and join him, pouring it out into a glass.

Dean looks at me pointedly, but doesn't say anything.

Yet.

"Everything all right?" Sam asks cautiously.

"Oh, yeah," Dean sarcastically responds. "Just peachy. Find anything?"

"Yeah," Sam sits down next to us, frowning at the glass in my hand.

I ignore him-it's the only way I hold on to my sanity.

I'm not about to let it go.

"Jessie O'Brien's body was cremated," Sam continues.

"So I'm pretty sure she's not our ghost."

I bat at Dean's arm.

It's redder than ever, and he won't leave it alone.

"Hey, quit picking at that!"

Dean grunts in reply.

"How are you feeling?" Sam looks at Dean, waiting.

Dean eyes us crabbily.

"Awesome. It's nice to have my head on the chopping block again. I almost forgot what that feels like."

"Yeah."

"It's freaking delightful," Dean says acerbically.

"We'll keep looking, Dean," I say softly.

I'm not about to lose him again.

Dean starts to cough.

"You okay?"

"Hey!"

Dean rushes to the sink, gagging as something comes up.

He spits out a wood chip.

Sam stares fixedly at it.

"We've been ignoring the biggest clue we have-you."

"I don't want to be a clue," Dean grumbles.

"The abrasions," I say slowly. "This, the disease, it's trying to tell us something."

"Tell us what?" Dean demanded. "Wood chips?"

"Exactly."

~Supernatural~

Dean looks at the lumber mill apprehensively.

"I'm not going in there."

I sigh.

"We need backup, and you're all we've got. You're going in, Dean."

Dean swigs down whiskey.

"Let's do this. It's a little spooky, isn't it?"

In answer, Sam hands him a gun.

Dean shifts away.

"Oh, I'm not carrying that. It could go off. I'll man the flashlight."

I look at him, snatching away the gun.

"You do that."

...

The EMF went off in my bag.

"EMF's not gonna work with me around, is it?" Dean glances at it.

"You don't say," Sam loads his gun. "Come on."

"Wait..."

I startle Dean.

I pick up the glinting circle on the ground, reading the letters.

"'To Frank. Love, Jessie.'"

I hold it up.

"Frank O'Brien's ring."

"What the hell was Frank doing here?" Dean twitches uneasily.

"No idea."

We walk into a room full of lockers.

Something rustles.

I gather myself and fling open the locker door.

Dean lets out a high-pitched scream after a cat jumps out at him.

Sam and I are at a loss for words.

"Whew," Dean breathes out. "That was scary."

I blink.

Sam finds an ID card.

"Luther Garland," He reads.

I pick up the drawing on the table.

"Hey, this is uh... this is Frank's wife."

"Plot thickens," Sam remarks.

"Yeah, but into what?"

Dean tears off the drawing, and suddenly the machines turn on.

He sees something in the corner, and we turn around in his direction.

"Hey!"

I act on instinct, shooting the apparition.

I look around just in time to see Dean running out the mill.

Sam and I find him hiding behind the Impala, gulping whiskey.

"Guess we got the right place."

~Supernatural~

I've never liked old age homes.

The Peaceful Pines Assisted Living is no exception.

Luther's brother is ambivalent to our questioning.

"Everybody was scared of Luther," He says.

"They called him a monster. He was too big, too mean-looking. Just too different. Didn't matter he was the kindest man I ever knew. Didn't matter he'd never hurt no one. A lot of people failed Luther. I was one of them. I was a widower with three young 'uns. And I told myself that there was nothing I could do."

I hold up the picture.

"Mr. Garland, um, do you recognize this woman?"

"It's Jessie O'Brien. Her man, Frank, killed Luther."

"How do you know that?" Sam asks sharply.

"Everybody knows," Mr. Garland shrugs. "They just don't talk about it."

"Jessie was a receptionist at the mill, real nice to Luther. He had a crush on her. But Frank didn't like it. And when Jessie went missing, Frank was sure that Luther had done something to her. Turns out the old gal killed herself. but Frank didn't know that. They found Luther with a chain wrapped around his neck. He was dragged up and down the stretch outside that plant till he was past dead."

"And O'Brien was never arrested?" Dean raises an eyebrow.

"I screamed to every cop in town. They didn't want to look into Frank. He was a pillar of the community. My brother was just the town freak."

"You must have hated Frank O'Brien," I say quietly.

"I did for a long time, but life's too short for hate, miss. And Frank wasn't thinking straight. His wife had vanished, he was terrified. Damn shame he had to put Luther through the same, but...that's fear. It spreads and spreads."

~Supernatural~

Dean was worrying me.

He hadn't even come with us to meet Bobby.

I wait, sitting on the Impala with Sam as Bobby pulls up in his beaten-up old car.

"Howdy, Sam."

"Kid," He glares at me. "Where've you been?"

"Oh, just the usual," I say. "Burning in hell."

The words taste bitter in my mouth.

Bobby's mouth pops open, but Sam cuts him off.

"We can catch up later. We have just under two hours to save Dean. What you got?"

Bobby huffs.

"This, uh, encyclopaedia of spirits dates to the Edo period."

He tosses a book at Sam.

It's in Japanese.

"You can read Japanese?"

"**君なんか生まれる前から、ずっとだよ**," Bobby answers.

I snicker.

**"****確かに、あなたが、老人**," I reply.

"Hey," Bobby glares at me. "Don't get cheeky."

Sam eyes us oddly.

"Anyway, this book lists a kind of ghost that could be our guy. It infects people with fear. It's called a Buruburu."

"Does it say how to kill it?"

"Same as usual," Bobby says. "Burn the remains."

"Wonderful." Sam sighs. "Is there a plan B?"

"Well, the buruburu is born of fear. Hell, it is fear. And the lore says we can kill it with fear.

"How the hell are we gonna do that?"

~Supernatural~

This is a terrible plan.

But it's the only one we've got, and I'm not losing Dean.

Not again.

Luther isn't showing himself.

I've got to make him angry.

"Hey, Luther!" I call, tearing up his drawings of Jessie.

The machines turn on.

"Come on, Luther! Where the hell are you? What are you waiting for?"

I turn around.

Luther is staring me in the face.

He tackles me to the ground, and I grapple with him, somehow managing to wrap the chain around his neck.

"Sam, punch it!" I scream.

Sam floors the Impala, pulling Luther's spirit across the road.

It disappears.

~Supernatural~

"So you guys road-hauled a ghost with a chain?" Dean cocks an eyebrow.

"Iron chain," Sam corrects. "Etched with spellwork."

"Hmm," Dean chews his lip. "That's a new one."

"It was what he was most afraid of," I say. "It was pretty brutal, though."

"On the upside, I'm still alive, so, uh, go team!"

"Yeah," Sam nods. "How you feeling, by the way?"

"Fine."

"You sure, Dean?" Bobby says teasingly.

"'Cause this line of work can get awful scary."

"I'm fine," Dean insists. "You want to go hunting? I'll hunt. I'll kill anything."

"Awww," I coo, pinching his cheek between my fingers.

"Isn't he adorable?"

Sam sniggers, and Dean scowls heavily, batting my arm away.

We watch as Bobby drives off.

"So, uh...so what did you see?" Sam asks. "Near the end, I mean."

"Besides a cop beating my ass?" Dean retorts.

"Seriously," I stare at him.

"Howler monkeys," Dean replies.

"Whole roomful of them. Those things creep the hell out of me."

He looks at our disbelieving faces.

"Just the usual stuff. Nothing I can't handle."

I don't believe him for one second.

Dean is lying through his teeth.


	16. Keepin' Halloween Alive

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**So, teensy AU- this is the first time Dean and Odette will find out about Sam's powers.**

**Chapter name borrowed from Alice Cooper.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! **

**On with it, shall we?**

CHAPTER SIXTEEN- KEEPIN' HALLOWEEN ALIVE

"I hate Halloween," Sam gripes.

Dean enters the room, unwrapping a stick of candy.

Sam scowls.

"Really? After that guy choked down all those razor blades?"

Dean shrugs.

"It's Halloween, man."

"Yeah," Sam rolls his eyes. "For us, every day is Halloween."

Dean offers a bar to me.

I shake my head, sticking a cigarette in my mouth instead.

Dean's eyes narrow dangerously, and Sam looks close to taking away my lighter.

I stare at them, silently daring them to try it.

It's my lifeline-the only way I can keep myself from remembering.

Instead, Dean looks at our research.

"Anything interesting?"

"We're on a witch hunt, that's for sure," Sam replies.

"But this isn't your typical hex bag."

Sam indicates the bag laid out on the table.

I glance at the silver piece and something small and charred.

There's another object that looks like a dried up flower.

I pick it up.

"Goldthread," I say.

"An herb that's been extinct for over two hundred years. And this-"

I hold up the silver piece.

"Is Celtic, and I don't mean some New Age knock-off. It looks like the real deal, like six hundred years old real."

Dean picks up the small charred thing, sniffing it.

"And, um," Sam presses his lips together.

"That is the charred metacarpal bone of a newborn baby."

"Ugh," Dean puts the bone down, disgusted.

"Gross."

Sam picks it up again.

"Relax, man, it's like, at least a hundred years old."

"Oh, right," Dean says sarcastically.

"Like that makes it better? Witches, man, they're so friggin' skeevy."

I sit back on the couch.

"Yeah, well it takes a pretty powerful one to put a bag like this together," I let out a puff of smoke.

"More juice than we've ever dealt with, that's for sure. What about you? Find anything on the victim?"

"This Luke Wallace?" Dean shakes his head.

"He was so vanilla that he made vanilla seem spicy."

I scoff.

"I can't find any reason why somebody would want this guy dead."

~Supernatural~

I didn't understand.

Another girl had been murdered-and she didn't seem to have any link with Luke Wallace.

Dean echoes my thoughts.

"I'm telling you, both these vic's are squeaky clean. There's no reason for wicked bitch payback."

"Maybe 'cause it's not about that," I say slowly.

"Wow," Dean rolls his eyes. "Insightful."

I ignore him.

"Maybe this witch isn't working a grudge, maybe she's working a spell. Check this out."

I read from the book in my hand.

"Three blood sacrifices over three days, the last before midnight on the final day of the final harvest. Celtic calendar, the final day of the final harvest is October thirty-first."

I hand him the book.

"Halloween," Dean says.

"Exactly," Sam's brow furrows.

"What are, the, uh, blood sacrifices for?" Dean eyes the book dubiously.

"Uh," Sam pauses. "If I'm right, this witch is summoning a demon, and not just any demon, Samhain."

I blink.

Not him.

I'd heard talk of him down in hell-and none of it was good.

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" Dean cocks an eyebrow.

I knead my forehead.

"Dean, Samhain is the damn origin of Halloween. The Celts believe that October thirty-first was the one night of the year when the veil was thinnest between the living and the dead, and it was Samhain's night. I mean, masks were put on to hide from him, sweets left on doorsteps to appease him, faces carved into pumpkins to worship him. He was exorcised centuries ago."

"How do you know all this?" Dean demands.

"You forget where I've been all these months," I say tightly.

There's a tense pause.

"This ritual can only be performed every six hundred years," Sam says quickly.

"And the six hundred year marker rolls around..."

Sam reluctantly replies.

"Tomorrow night."

~Supernatural~

Tracy the cheerleader.

The witch is an apple-bobbing cheerleader.

Guess I shouldn't be surprised.

We've talked to her teacher-she looks good for it.

My sixth sense prickles as my hand closes around the hotel doorknob.

Somebody is in our room.

Dean and Sam draw their guns, and I kick open the door, flinching back.

I'm face-to-face with Castiel.

"You!" I spit.

I'm about to push him out, when I notice the man in the corner.

"Who're you?" I demand sharply.

He turns around.

"My name is Uriel."

I freeze.

Amitiel's sword is in my hand in a split second.

Uriel's eyes narrow.

"Where did you get that?"

"None of your business," I fire back. "Why are you here?"

"The rising of Samhain," Castiel says. "Have you killed the witch?"

"No," I answer unwillingly. "But we know who it is."

Castiel walks over to the side table.

"Apparently, the witch knows who you are, too."

He picks up a hex bag, holding it aloft.

"This was inside the wall of your room. If we hadn't found it, one of you, or all of you, would be dead."

My retort is lost.

He just saved my life-again.

When will I ever stop owing him?

My anger is barely reigned in.

"Why do you even care?"

Castiel's eyes bore into mine.

"The rising of Samhain is one of the sixty-six seals."

Instantly I am transported back to hell, filled with smoke and ashes, and screams.

I remember Lucifer all too well.

Castiel's eyes are fixed on me, pleading with me, somehow, but I shield my mind from him.

I've trusted the wrong person.

I won't make that mistake again.

"Lucifer cannot rise," Castiel stresses.

"The breaking of the seal must be prevented at all costs."

"Okay, great," Dean glares at him with dislike.

"Now that you're here, why don't you tell us where the witch is, we'll gank her, and everybody goes home."

I don't like it.

I don't want his help.

"We are not omniscient," Castiel retorts.

"This witch is very powerful, she's cloaked even our methods."

"Okay," Sam sighs. "Well, we already know who she is, so if we work together-"

"Enough of this," Uriel cuts him off.

"Okay," I grip the sword tightly. "Who the hell are you and why should I care?"

"He's what you might call...a specialist," Castiel says haltingly.

"What kind of specialist?" Dean demands. "What are you gonna do?"

"You," Castiel's eyes search me out.

I know what he's asking for.

And I can't give it.

Even if it's killing me not to.

I just can't.

"All three of you," Castiel turns away from me.

"You need to leave this town immediately."

Suspicion instantly flares up.

"Why?"

Castiel's eyes flash.

"Because we're about to destroy it."


	17. Monster Mash

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters.**

**I know, I know. I haven't updated in AGES, and I feel awful.**

**In my defense, my Doc Manager crashed and all my files simply disappeared. I'll have to start from scratch.**

**Again. **

**Anyway, here it is.**

**Finally.**

**Chapter title borrowed from Boris Pickett.**

**Review, my lovelies!**

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN- MONSTER MASH

I stare at the two angels in disbelief.

"So this is your plan, you're gonna smite the whole friggin' town?" Dean echoes my thoughts.

"We're out of time," Castiel insists. "This witch has to die, the seal must be saved."

_"There are a thousand people here,"_ I hiss angrily.

"One thousand two hundred fourteen," Uriel corrects smugly.

"And you're willing to kill them all." Sam says in disgust.

"This isn't the first time I've... purified a city."

I glare at Uriel.

"Look, I understand this is regrettable," Castiel says slowly.

"Regrettable?" Dean repeats, appalled.

"We have to hold the line," He persists. "Too many seals have broken already."

"So you screw the pooch on some seals and this town has to pay the price?" Dean scowls.

"It's the lives of one thousand against the lives of six billion. There's a bigger picture here," Castiel refutes.

I see red.

"Right, 'cause you're bigger picture kind of guys," Dean sneers.

Castiel's eyes fasten onto mine.

"Lucifer cannot rise. He does and hell rises with him. Is that something you're willing to risk?"

Instantly I'm transported back in time.

Fire. Brimstone. Blood. Agony.

Cold, cruel laughter as I scream in pain.

Lucifer.

_Is that something you're willing to risk?_

Sam unknowingly comes to my rescue.

"We'll stop this witch before she summons anyone. Your seal won't be broken and no one has to die."

Uriel scoffs.

"We're wasting time with these mud monkeys."

Castiel turns away from us.

"I'm sorry, but we have our orders."

I reach my limit.

Amitiel's sword flies into my waiting hand.

"No," I snarl. "You will not blow up this town. _Over my dead body_."

"I will drag you out of here myself," Uriel replies with equal intensity.

The room starts shaking.

Dust falls from the ceiling and the table lifts off the floor.

Dean and Sam are wide-eyed in shock.

They have never seen my powers this way.

I ignore them.

"Try it," I growl, bloodlust setting in.

Dean's eyes flit from the three of us.

"We can do this," He urges. "We will find the witch and we will stop the summoning."

Uriel snaps.

"Castiel! I will not let these peop-"

Castiel holds up his hand.

"Enough!"

He locks gazes with me.

"I suggest you move quickly."

~Supernatural~

I whirl around the room, grabbing a zombie and twisting it's neck.

It gives a sick _crack_ sound as I move on to the next.

Turns out Don Harding was a witch and so was Tracy.

Samhain has been released.

I finish the last of the zombies, kicking away the bodies in disgust.

The old me would have collapsed at this.

But there are worse things than zombies.

"Come on." I tell Dean. "We need to get to Sam."

He eyes me with respect.

And something like unease.

I'm used to the feeling.

~Supernatural~

Dean and I stop, horrified.

Sam is grappling with Samhain, nose bleeding profusely.

He hasn't moved an inch.

And it looks like he's winning.

Even so, I can't let this happen.

I can't let Sam turn dark.

It's too late to save me.

Not too late for him.

In a split second, I push Sam away, stepping in front of Samhain.

My eyes narrow and I extend my hand.

"You won't hurt anyone again," I promise.

I focus all my power, the steady pressure thrumming inside me...

And release it at Samhain.

At first, nothing happens.

Sweat trickles down my forehead.

I push harder, and blood seeps out from the corner of my mouth.

Samhain buckles, and with a horrible, unearthly shriek, black smoke billows out of Don Harding's limp body.

"Go back to hell, Samhain," I whisper.

I pass out.


	18. Big Girls Don't Cry

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters.**

**Major angst ahoy! **

**Yes, I'm skipping an episode. When is that new? :P**

**This isn't my best work. Just warning you.**

**Chapter title borrowed from Lynn Anderson.**

**Lyrics borrowed from Skeeter Davis.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

**Review, my lovelies!**

_Why does the sun go on shining?_

_Why does the sea rush to shore?_

_Don't they know it's the end of the world?_

'_Cause you don't love me anymore._

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN- BIG GIRLS DON'T CRY

The nightmares never stop.

But maybe that's the wrong word.

It's real. It's happened. It's going to happen.

And that's the most terrifying thing of all, perhaps.

Even in sleep, I strain to wake up, but as always, it's futile.

I will have to endure the agony.

All over again.

Tonight.

Tomorrow night.

Every night.

_"Don't. Don't do this," I begged. "You're all I've got left."_

_I was hideously, painfully aware of how pathetic I sounded._

_But I could see the steel in his eyes._

_He'd made his decision._

_"Please," I whispered. "Don't. Please, Castiel."_

_The tears spilled over onto my cheek, leaving a cold, slick trail._

_Cas' eyes bored into mine, cold and indifferent, every inch the severe, stern angel he was._

_He spoke slowly, deliberately, letting every word sink in. _

_"Odette. I don't want to stay. I don't want to be here with you. I don't care."_

_The hole in my chest ripped itself wide open, and the tears did not stop falling._

_My voice was almost inaudible._

_"Don't I matter to you, Cas?"_

_But I could see, staring at his face, that I didn't._

_I never had._

The scene changed, shifting in hues of roiling red and distant gray.

Hell.

_Alistair carries shards of broken glass._

_And then he forces open my mouth._

_I understand only too well now._

_I scream, but there is no way out._

_I am strapped to the rack, arms and legs immobile._

_Alistair rams the glass down my throat._

_The pain is impossibly blinding._

_I have no chance to shriek, because Alistair shoves more of it down, whistling cheerily as he strips away the skin inside my throat._

Again, my dream changes, and I relive another part of hell.

_Lucifer begins taunting me, and I close my eyes._

_This is more than I can take._

_"It's animal, livin' in a human zoo,"__Lucifer drawls._

_"Feeling like a Christian, locked in a cage,__"_

_I press my lips together, keeping my eyes shut._

_I do not want to see the mockery I have become._

_"Thrown to the lions, on the second page.__"_

_I find my voice again._

_It comes out in a scream._

_Lucifer dips his finger in my blood._

_"If you want blood, you got it,_

_Blood on the streets, blood on the rocks,_

_Blood in the gutter, every last drop__."_

_I stare at the red liquid pooling between my arms._

And then, perhaps the worst.

My darkest hour in hell.

_I pick up the scalpel and move forward._

_The soul's screams reverberate through the room._

_The last few dregs of my humanity slip away. _

My eyes fly open, and I vault off the bed, breathing in short, hard gasps.

The image burns in my brain.

Me.

Bloody hands.

Blank eyes.

Empty expression.

Monster.

_Monster, murderer, torturer,_ my mind hisses viciously.

I fight to suppress the memories, grimacing in pain.

Instantly, my fingers scrabble around for a cigarette.

The lighter is already at my side.

I take a long, greedy pull, shuddering violently.

"Please stop," A voice says.

I turn around without flinching.

"Castiel. What do you want?"

I am proud that my voice doesn't waver.

It's cold.

Disinterested.

For once, Castiel flounders for words.

"I..." He crouches down next to me, his face an inch away from mine.

I wait.

"I am so, so _sorry,"_ Castiel's voice breaks on the word. "For hell. For sentencing you to...to Alistair."

He drops his gaze,

"For leaving you."

Pain shoots through my chest.

It's crippling.

Everything else I can suppress.

Not this.

I keep staring at the wall of my room.

"Sorry doesn't change anything, Castiel."

"I know. I don't expect you to forgive me, but please. Let me help you. You can't live like this. Please."

I see red, springing out of my armchair.

"Let you _help me?" _

Castiel flinches back from the venom in my voice.

"You help me?" I start laughing.

Horrible, mirthless laughs which sound dangerously close to sobbing.

"Just leave, Castiel." I whisper.

I look at his face.

It's pleading, expressive, more _human_ than I've ever seen him before.

I want to believe him.

Every cell in my body aches to believe him.

And it's killing me that I can't.

"There's nothing you can do. _Leave_." I say again.

Castiel looks... I flinch inwardly as I think the word.

Heartbroken.

There's really no other way to say it.

But my heart's been ripped and mangled apart too much.

I can't ruin whatever's left of it.

I don't look back to check, but I know.

Castiel is gone.

Again.

And this time I sent him away.

The pain hits me with the force of a wrecking ball, and I pitch forward, out of my chair.

A peculiar choked sound comes out of my mouth as I try to stop sobbing.

It's just a weakness.

But, it seems, even after everything, I'm still so weak.

Still so helpless.

Still in love with an angel named Castiel.

My knees buckle, the tears leaving salty, bitter trails on my cheek.

I do the only thing I can.

I weep.

~Supernatural~

Dawn sees me downing my fourth glass of whiskey, the ashtray overflowing next to my shaking hand.

The alcohol burns in my throat, and I concentrate on that and nothing else.

Plumes of cigarette smoke swirl around me.

The door creaks open.

"Bambi."

It's Dean.

"What?"

My voice is hoarse.

It cracks.

Dean narrows his eyes at the glass in my hand, at the tendrils of smoke curling around the room.

He clears his throat, sitting down on my bed.

"Look.." Dean swallows. "I get it. About hell... and everything."

He has the sense not to mention Castiel.

The words tumble out of Dean's mouth, almost as if he's speaking against his will.

"But you've got to stop this," Dean waves a hand at the bottles lining my room. At the ashtray.

"It's... it isn't like you. You're scaring Sam. You're scaring me. Stop this."

"Please," He adds, when I stay silent.

"Don't shut us out," Dean continues. "Talk to us. Talk to us about hell."

I freeze.

It's not an option.

"Do you talk about hell, Dean?" I reply blankly.

Dean winces.

"That's different. I don't...I don't remember it."

I scoff.

"Yeah, right."

But I can see, looking at his stubborn face, that Dean is not going to let this go.

I get to my feet in one fluid motion.

"Okay, have it your way, Dean. You want me to tell you about hell? Fine."

"It's hell." I laugh at my pathetic joke.

"It's hot. It's cold. It's your worst nightmare. It's the sound of your blood dropping to the floor."

"Drip, drop. Drip, drop," I say, a little nonsensically.

I realize I've had more whiskey than I thought.

"Drip, drop," I repeat.

Dean begins to look unsettled.

"It's the sound of you screaming until you don't sound human anymore. It's the smell of your own flesh burning and rotting."

"It's the chipping away of your sanity, piece by bloody piece. It's your throat shredding because you've shrieked and yelled away your voice."

"It's knowing you can't escape."

My eyes darken, and the room begins shaking.

"I may have left hell, Dean," I whisper. "But hell hasn't left me."

And then the anger sets in.

"So, yeah," I hiss. "This is how I cope. And I don't fucking care what damage it does to me. How much more can I be destroyed?"

I am literally nose-to-nose with Dean, who is speechless.

He looks...frightened, almost.

"Do you understand me, Dean?" My eyes don't leave his face.

"I don't fucking care."

And I push my brother out the door.

I sink to the floor again, hiding my face in my hands.

No one hears me cry.


End file.
